


What U See (Is What You Get)

by ManhattanProject



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alexei "wouldn't hurt a fly but is Big Scary on ice" Mashkov, Jack and Kent are friends, Kent has low self-esteem, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Soulmate AU, canon typical hockey violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 16:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManhattanProject/pseuds/ManhattanProject
Summary: Soulmate AU where the firsts words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin.-AKA Kent Parson thinks his soulmate is part of the Russian Mafia.





	

Kent Parson has spent a lot of time in his 27 years of living trying to figure out a context behind the words that have been inscribed on his ribs since the day he was born. He’s spent a lot of that time worrying about what kind of person his soulmate is for those to be the first words they’d ever say to him. At this point in his life he’s gone through dozens and dozens of theories, and he’s all but resigned himself to the fact that his soulmate is probably part of the Russian Mafia, and at some point Kent’s life is just going to go to shit. 

But for now, he’s 27, a Calder Trophy winner, and Captain of the Las Vegas Aces, where he’s led his team to not one, but two Stanley Cups. He’s got a nice apartment in Vegas, a cat that has more Instagram followers than he does, and most importantly, he has Jack again. Not as anything more than a friend - Jack has his little Southern boyfriend, and Kent has therapy - but Kent is happy to have Jack back in his life in any way he can. 

Jack and Kent are no more friends on the ice than they were before their reconciliation, however. Sure, they might chirp each other instead of exchanging stony silence when they play, but Kent still plays with the same speed and agility, and Jack still plays with the same focused attention he had in Juniors.

When the Aces play the Falconers for the first time this season, Kent’s first words to Jack are about the Falc’s new d-man. “You guys going for the brawn this season?” he says as the two of them stand across from each other at center ice for the first faceoff. Jack just snorts and doesn’t reply. 

The game is brutal. The pace is fast and there are plenty of hard checks, but neither team scores until there’s two minutes left in the second period, when Jack manages to get a neat wrist shot past the Ace’s goalie. The Aces even up the score right after when Kent backhands the puck past Snowy just as the buzzer for the end of the period goes off.

When the end of the third rolls around they’re still tied, and it’s starting to look like the game is going to go to overtime when Kent gets a goal off Swoops’ assist. Kent watches as Mashkov - the brawn Kent had referenced to Jack at the beginning of the game - makes to check Swoops, how the puck slides off Swoops’ stick and towards Kent, how Swoops moves his head right as Mashkov checks him, hard. Kent pulls his focus back to the puck so he can snap it into the goal, pauses to watch it go in, and immediately skates over to Swoops. It’s only been seconds since he was checked; he’s still pulling himself up off the ice. 

Kent trails Swoops on his way off the ice, hovers at the boards as the referees make a call on Mashkov’s check. Hard, but legal, they decide. Kent’s anger is still clouding him (“I moved at the last second, Parse, it’s not Mashkov’s fault.”) and before he can think about it, before someone can stop him, he’s speeding over to Mashkov, stopping inches from his face and glaring up at the (very large) Russian man standing before him. 

“What the fuck were you trying to do?” he says, seething. He wants to shove Mashkov but he doesn’t want to instigate a fight - they’re in the last five minutes, he doesn’t need to be suspended from the next game. 

“My job,” Mashkov responds evenly. “Was not illegal, Маленькая крыса.” 

Kent sucks in a breath and freezes, eyes widening, before he backs away from Mashkov, spins around, and skates off. His teammates ask him what happened, what Mashkov said to him, but Kent brushes them off. “Come on guys, we have four minutes left, we need to keep them from scoring and we win. Let’s go.” 

Novitsky replaces Swoops on Kent’s line for the last few minutes of the game, and Kent channels all of his focus onto the puck, onto Jack’s line, onto keeping their lead; he doesn’t think about the words burning on his ribs. When the buzzer goes off for the last time Kent breathes a sigh of relief, lets himself be swept up in his team’s celly, congratulates the other team while carefully avoiding Mashkov.

Kent thinks about drowning himself in the locker room showers, but he doesn’t. 

He goes out and does press, face carefully arranged to not give anything away (“The Falcs played a hard game. They’re a good team.” “It was an unfortunate hit, yeah. But it was legal.” “It happens. Mashkov wasn’t trying for a check to the head, Troy just moved the wrong way at the wrong time.”)

After press is over Kent lingers in the locker room as long as he can, until he’s one of the last players left and Swoops is giving him a look. 

“You good, Parse?” Swoops says, one eyebrow cocked. He has a bruise forming on the left side of his face but it’s nothing serious. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m great. Long game,” Kent says. “I’ll be out in a minute and we can head to the bar.” Swoops looks like he can see right through Kent’s bullshit, but he doesn’t say anything, just pats him on the back and leaves the locker room. Kent is grateful.

He finally works up the nerve to exit the locker room a few minutes later, hoping Mashkov has already left the arena, but Kent can never be that lucky. 

“Kent Parson!” he hears the deep, accented voice from the end of the hall, hears the heavy, hurried footsteps behind him. He stops, stands still for a moment, turns around. He doesn’t want to face Mashkov, doesn’t want to see how angry the other man is about who his soulmate turned out to be. Kent knows what the words on his ribs translate to. 

And maybe, deep in the back of his mind, he tells himself that it’s just words said during a game - they don’t matter - but his brain is sabotaging him, like a voice in the back of his head telling him that no one would ever want Kent to be theirs. 

“Hey, Mashkov,” Kent says, plastering a smile to his face. “Good game, man. Sorry for the ah, yelling. Swoops is a good player, got a little upset, you know how it is.” 

Mashkov cocks an eyebrow and gives Kent a long look. “What you say. ‘What the fuck were you trying to do?’. Is familiar,” he says, and then he’s bending over, rolling the right leg of his track pants up to his knee. “Look.” 

Kent hesitates, but finally leans down and looks at the writing scrawled on Mashkov’s calf. His words from earlier are there in his neat, all uppercase handwriting. “Right.”

Kent takes a step back and Mashkov rolls his pants back down again, straightens up, and the two of them stare at each other in silence, until Kent finally breathes out a long sigh and pulls his shirt up to show Mashkov the words on his ribs. “My job. Was not illegal, Маленькая крыса,” in messy, large, almost chicken-scratch handwriting. Mashkov lets out a low chuckle. 

“Look good on you, Kent Parson. My words” he says, and Kent frowns. “You know I am saying things on ice I am not meaning, da?” 

“You don’t have to be nice to me, Mashkov. I know what the words mean,” Kent says. He knows Mashkov is just trying to appease him and let him down gently. 

“What I am saying on ice, it is staying on ice,” Mashkov says. “I am not thinking you are Маленькая крыса off ice, Kent Parson.” Kent just stares at him, and Mashkov frowns. “You ask Zimmboni, he tell you I am not taking hockey feelings out of game.” 

“Alright, alright, I believe you,” Kent finally says, but he doesn’t move. “You should come to the bar with me and the boys, bring Zimms so I can ask him myself,” he says after nearly a minute of tense silence. Mashkov’s face lights up, and after a few seconds Kent finally cracks a smile of his own and gestures for Mashkov to follow him. Maybe Kent deserves to be happy.

\--- 

Later at the bar, multiple beers in and arm slung around Alexei, Kent tells him and Jack about his theory that his soulmate had to be in the mafia. Alexei laughs. Jack chokes on his beer.

**Author's Note:**

> alright y'all this is the first fic I've ever written for anything and I'm about as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof. let me know what y'all thought of it!
> 
> \---  
> Маленькая крыса - little rat


End file.
